Without Pretend
by kathleensmiles
Summary: "So little was under their control now. He could promise until he was blue in the face but what the hell would that change?" Daryl and Carol have a conversation a little while after his return from Woodbury. Oneshot. Rated for language and Violence/Gore. Please review.


**Author's Note!  
So...Here's another Caryl oneshot.  
Definitely not fluffy so read at you own risk.  
Set around 5 days to a week after Daryl's return.  
****Warning for language and violence/gore, please review and enjoy!**

Without Pretend

_I am nothing without pretend._  
_I know my thoughts._  
_Can t live with them._  
_Civillian- Wye Oak_

Daryl sat comfortably in the perch -his perch, untouched since the Woodbury incident- overlooking the prison's cell-block.  
He was carefully, routinely and methodically sharpening branches into arrows. He'd need them when those bastards came back sniffing around the prison.  
There was no avoiding it- this was war.  
After the assault on that fucked up wannabe cult, after what they'd done to Glenn- what my brother did to Glenn he corrected himself mentally- after what had happened back in that arena there was no turning back. Not after Andrea's betrayal, not after the screamer pits, not after Merle had-  
A half-sharpened arrow snapped in his grip and he forced his thoughts away from the subject and back to the task at hand.  
There was no point in dwelling on it- wouldn't change anything. Some sins could never be undone and some wounds were never meant to heal.  
He d learned that a long time ago.  
Drifting back into the rythmic movements of making arrows, he allowed his eyes to wander over to where Carol sat, helping Beth clean up Ass-Kicker, or Jude as he'd taken to calling her.  
Beth dabbed lightly at the tiny little thing's mouth, wiping off trails of Gerber's baby food while Carol tried to clean Judes splatter and spittle covered top.  
Noticing his gaze, she sent him a quick smile, catching Beth's notice. Daryl sighed a little as Beth waved Carol off towards him.  
Generally, time spent with Carol was one of the few good things he had going for him.  
The conversation was sparse but easy. Made up of the sort of silences no one felt the need to fill with stupid, empty words. It was calming, being around Carol.  
Or, at least it had been, until he'd returned from Woodbury, soaked with blood and exhausted, crossbow in hand. Things were different now.  
The two of them respected each other, it was obvious and not something that could be debated. It was hard earned on both ends, not blind faith.  
Neither of them subscribed to that- life had taught them their lesson where thoughtless trust was concerned.  
Yet ever since that day, when she'd ran at the gate, opening it in a frenzy, smiling and close to tears as she hurried his sunburnt and fatigued frame inside, she looked at him with a sort of awe.  
Like a character from one of those adventure novels he d seen her reading back at the farm, a man who'd made it through hell and back, unharmed and unstoppable. The closest thing he could liken it to was hero-worship.  
Daryl didn't want to be a hero. Too much pressure. It would just make any let down a thousand times worse. He didn't want to let people down.  
Least of all Carol.  
He d always wanted to assure her, to promise that he would never let anything happen to her, to any of them. But it was never a matter of letting.  
So little was under their control now. He could promise until he was blue in the face but what the hell would that change?  
All his promises hadn't saved her little girl, his promises hadn't stopped his brother from-  
Don't go there, he reminded himself, breathing deeply, there's no fucking point. There never is.  
Carol stood in front of him now, his poncho freshly cleaned and folded in her arms, a small smile on her lips.

"Wha' ?" He half-asked, half-growled.

"Nothing," she sighed contentedly, "It's just nice- having you back I mean. It wasn't the same without you sulking around here," she added, teasing.

He grunted, less in reply than in acknowledgement, taking the poncho and slipping it over his shoulders.  
She stood there a moment, almost awkwardly, before slowly beginning to move back down the stairs with a shrug.

"My brother's dead," he found himself saying suddenly, the words tearing themselves from his throat.

Carol paused midstep, shock and confusion written into her features. "But Rick said he was with the Governor."

Daryl nodded.  
"He were, after we went after Glenn 'n Maggie, crazy bastard threw 'im under the bus, said Merle let us in an' tha' we were terrorists- nuthin' but bullshit ya know?" He stopped, taking in a deep, shaky breath.  
"Took us out past the town aways, middle a nowhere t' these holes in the ground, these pits full 'a walkers."

He took another gasp of air into his lungs, his chest shaking now, almost heaving as his anxiety rose, as he remembered Merle s screams- practically roars really, Merle Dixon never did seem to feel pain or fear, just constant, endless anger. Forcing himself to continue, he spoke up.

"Called it the screamer pits, tossed me an' him in one of 'em an' drove off. Threw in my bow too, fer shits and giggles. Knew it weren't gon' do us no good in there."

He glanced at her, studying her expression. There was compassion in her face- there always was- but no pity.  
He appreciated that, that she thought no less of him.  
_But then again, ya haven t really gotten t the good part_, Merle wheedled in his ear, voice taunting, oozing accusation.  
Daryl took it. After it all, it was far gentler than he deserved.

"Told 'im I'd get 'im out", he whispered, "didn't real'y believe it, jus' needed t' say sumthin' , but I still told 'im. Mighta even promised. Then he said tha' it were al'ight, that he had this shit handled and-"

He let his eyes slip closed for a moment, let the sight of Merle throwing his arms wide fill his head, the sight of his brother throwing that first walker onto his own throat and letting the rest join in the frenzy, leaving Daryl untouched. His ears rang with the sound of his brother s roars of rage and hurt at every piece of bullshit that had been thrown at the two of them since birth. He saw the bottom of the pit slick with Merle s blood before he opened his eyes again.

"He just threw 'imself at 'em, let 'em go t' town."

Carol slowly put a hand on his shoulder, knowing him well enough at this point not to make any of her movements towards him sudden to avoid startling him.  
"Daryl, it's not your fault-"

He jumped back from her, snapping. "Dammit will ya listen fer chrissakes! I'm tryin' t' make a point here, it were jus' as much my fault as it were his!"

He tried to calm himself down, pacing back and forth in front of her. "I knew- that he was gon' do tha'. Get 'imself killed. Figured as much, from the way he were talkin' , but I didn't stop 'im. Didn' even try!" He sat down again, cradling his head in his hands.  
"I dunno why I didn' , but I jus' stood there, fuckin' watched. He was my brother! An' now his head's gonna be in some tank an I didn' do a goddamn thin' !  
Do ya understand? I fucked up- I froze, I didn' do nuthin' an' now he's gone. 'Cause a me," he added in a hiss, trying to force the point home.  
"And I drag my sorry ass back here an' ya act like I'm sum kinda fuckin' hero when he's dead an' I-"

He stopped, because suddenly he couldn't talk anymore. His lungs felt like they d collapsed in on him, his face felt hot, like it was burning and all that came from his throat were these choked little noises. His vision was swimming, eyes wet.  
And then there was Carol, pulling him in close, wrapping her thin, sylph-like arms around his waist and he felt his head drop against her shoulders, the energy to hold it up gone. She was thankfully silent while he shook against her, still except for her arms around his back.  
They stayed like that awhile.


End file.
